Commutability
by leechi nut
Summary: MPPW era. Snape exchanges school yard torment for the dubious succor of Lucius Malfoy, all the while trying to deal with his crush on Lily Evans. Double shot. Mature content.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co. They are the property of J. K. Rowling._

_Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from "Snape's Worst Memory" in OotP and "The Prince's Tale" in DH._

_Thanks: To Lola Little, my lovely beta reader._

_A/N: This story covers the 1975/76 school year. Leaps in time are denoted by '- - -' between sections. '- - - Initials - - -' indicates narrator point-of-view._

_Warning: This work is rated M for a reason! It deals with themes of violence, sexuality, rape, and suicidal thought. Reader discretion is advised._

**Commutability**

**Chapter 1**

"This life is filled with hurt. When happiness doesn't work, trust me and take my hand. When the lights go out, you will understand..."

--Three Days Grace, "Pain"

- - - SS - - -

Severus Snape stared at the pale hand extended to him. It was a sight that should have filled him with joy. Instead, his stomach knotted violently. The 15-year-old desperately tried to quash the sensation--now was _not_ the time for nausea. Not when he was seated before _the _Lord Lucius Malfoy. And _certainly_ not when said lord was fast becoming impatient as his hand hung unanswered in the air.

"I'll be there," Snape said and hastily took that hand. Two firm pumps, and that was that. Offer made. Offer accepted.

In two months' time, Severus Snape would be a Death Eater.

"Excellent," Malfoy drawled, smoothly exchanging Snape's hand for a snifter of brandy. "To the future, then." He smiled briefly, indulgently, and Severus' gut clenched again. That expression belonged on the face of some doting grandparent, not on the 21-year-old chief recruiter for the Dark Lord Voldemort.

"To the future, " Snape managed to echo, raising his glass.

Malfoy's smile widened. Then he knocked back his 25-galleon cognac like a 10-sickle shot, slammed the delicate stemware down on the table, and abruptly rose. He casually straightened his acromantula silk robe and gestured imperiously for Severus to follow. After a half-second staring wistfully at the alcohol he'd planned to nurse for the next half-hour, Snape stood, wincing slightly as his second-hand robe rubbed against his sore shoulder, and trailed Malfoy out of the Hog's Head Tavern.

The pub door closed behind them with a dull thud, and suddenly the world exploded in light and sound and laughter. Vendors lauded the merits of their wares. Housewives haggled and grinned at the open-air stands. Through the doors of more permanent establishments floated strains of music from the Wizarding Wireless. Above the play of guitars, drums, and bagpipes, students shouted and teased and generally cheered their free weekend in the well-worn comfort of Hogsmeade village. Malfoy sneered, "Uncultured swine."

He turned back to Snape, affected a smile just a bit too wide to pass for benign, and said, "'Til the Solstice, then."

The youth nodded mutely, inchoate alarm once again roiling in his belly.

With one last smile that was more of a smirk, Lucius turned and apparated away. Severus stared after him for a long moment, then turned as well and began the long, lonely trudge up to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Snape could, of course, have waited for his friends and taken a thestral-drawn carriage up to the castle, but he wanted to be alone with his mixed feelings and the weight of the life-changing decision he'd just made and-- Snape tripped on a pothole and cursed!

A fall that normally would have wounded only pride ripped open barely healed gashes along the back of Severus' shoulder, and he bit his lip hard to keep from moaning as he regained his feet. He grimaced at the feel of warm blood sliding down his spine and dampening his shirt. Then he firmed his mouth into a thin, hard line. The pain, Snape decided, was a good thing. It grounded him physically when emotionally, he had felt adrift on the currents of uncertainly. How stupid to doubt young Lord Malfoy because of a few strange looks when right on his back was all the proof Severus needed that supposedly 'good' and 'noble' people were nothing but frauds!

Severus violently kicked a loose rock and winced, then did it again. Yes, the youth confirmed, the pain was a good thing, unlike the good deed that had led to his injury. The thought flickered through his mind and he knew the saying was true: 'No good deed goes unpunished.'

- - -

Snape's good deed occurred at 10:32 on Wednesday, September 3rd. Professor Horace Slughorn caught Severus on his way out the classroom door and asked the boy to tutor a student. Snape, in a hurry to get to Transfiguration, agreed. It was nothing new or special, after all. One housemate or another was always looking to barter goods or services for homework answers. It was a bit odd that this plea for help should come through Professor Slughorn, though. Most Slytherins quickly discovered their Head of House was more interested in what _they_ could do for _him_ than vice versa. But the term had just started, and many 11-year-olds, even ones wearing green and silver, still looked at adults with blind trust.

The idea that the child in question might _not_ be a new Slytherin never crossed Severus' mind. The other houses treated Snape like a walking case of Dragon Pox. The only non-Slytherin who treated him like a human instead of a disease was Lily Evans, Severus' childhood neighbor. The redhead had been his best friend since they were both 9, but the girl hadn't once contacted him since her family moved to Surrey at the beginning of the summer.

Thus, when Remus Lupin sat himself down at Snape's library table that night, the Slytherin's first thought was that Evans had sent her housemate along with a message saying she either missed him desperately or decided he wasn't worth her time after all. His second thought was that the first was ludicrous. Lily had never been shy about confrontations. She never needed a giggling entourage of friends to pass notes for her. And even if she had, Evans certainly wouldn't have chosen Lupin, the silent partner in a quartet of bullies--the self-dubbed 'Marauders'--to do the job.

So, by way of greeting, Severus spat, "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"I-I'm here for my lesson," Remus sputtered. "Every Wednesday and Saturday, was what Professor Slughorn said..."

The lights went on for Snape, and his stomach seized. "_You _are my tutee."

"Well, yes," Lupin said, bemused. "Why else would I be here?"

Severus could think of a dozen reasons--all utterly wretched but still preferable to the truth. Indeed, the truth was utterly unbearable. What kind of Slytherin blindly agreed to help some nameless student? What happened to his guile, his cunning, the paranoia that came from four long years of harassment? Snape cursed himself for a fool. While he was at it, he cursed his mother, too; for while his muggle father's name meant nothing in the wizarding world, Severus' mother was born a Prince, and Princes always kept their word.

A sudden movement from the shelves drew Snape from his self-censure and diverted his ire back outward. There, lurking in the shadows, were Sirius Black, James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew. "Why else, indeed?" Severus asked.

Remus followed his gaze and had the good grace to blush. "I-- It's not-- They're just here so you don't hex me!"

"I was informed I would be tutoring a student in Potions tonight, not engaging in a formal duel. You'll notice I don't even have a second, while you have a third and forth. However, if you'd prefer to forfeit my services..."

Lupin was up in a second, exchanging heated whispers with his friends and pointing toward the exit. The three shot warning glares at Snape, and Black added a two-finger salute. Severus returned it with relish and watched the trio stomp out of the library under Madame Pince's disapproving gaze. He would have preferred for Lupin to bail, but irritating Black almost made up for it.

"Sorry about that," Remus apologized, retaking his seat at the table. "Like I said, they meant the best."

Severus just managed to check his sneer of disbelief. Lupin seemed entirely too keen on having Snape for a tutor; so if he was to be stuck with the boy, Severus supposed he should at least make an attempt at civility.

"And I want you to know I really appreciate--"

"Take out your quill and parchment, Lupin, and stop prattling. This is a Potions tutorial, not a platform for elocution," Snape interrupted. Maybe civility was a bit too big a step.

"I-I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't--"

"I didn't give you permission to use my forename, Lupin. Now, take out your quill and parchment."

Frowning dejectedly, Remus did so.

The following weeks continued in much the same vein. Severus attempted (unsuccessfully) to maintain the cool, polite tone he used with his Slytherins, and Lupin behaved as if he had ingested a Babbling Beverage. The routine was quickly wearing Snape's paper thin patience to transparency, and the continued presence of Sirius Black behind the bookshelves did not help matters. Inversely, Remus seemed to be developing a resistance to Severus' biting sarcasm and frequent dismissal of any sort of gray matter between the temples. In fact, the brunette acted as if the clearly forced urbanity was a heartfelt offer of friendship. It made Snape want to retch.

So, when Black handed him a note one Friday toward the end of the month--a note from Lupin declaring that the boy wanted to meet with him 'under the moonlight' instead of at the library the next day--Severus knew it was high time to set the other boy straight. It was bad enough that he had to listen to Black's Slytherin cousin, Narcissa, go on and on about how the recently graduated Lucius Malfoy was 'playing hard-to-get,' when everyone knew her intended simply loathed her. Snape had no desire to be on the receiving end of a similar romance, least of all with another boy.

Crumpling the letter in a white-knuckled fist, Severus marched directly up to the portrait entrance of Gryffindor Tower (which Lily had pointed out to him 'in case he ever needed to talk'). Evans had probably meant 'in case he ever needed to talk _to her_,' but, well, that was why one learned to be precise in one's speech. The devil was in the details. Snape demanded that the Fat Lady either let him in or bring out Lupin, who had 'coincidentally' skipped class that day. So much for Gryffindor courage.

It was James Potter who finally answered the door with a Bat-Bogey Hex, which Severus handily deflected. Potter frowned in disappointment and asked, "What do you want, _Snivellus_?"

"To see Lupin," Snape replied, voice dripping with distain, "about our meeting tomorrow."

Something flickered in Potter's hazel eyes before he stepped fully into the doorway, blocking it with a body considerably sturdier than Severus' own. "He's a bit under the weather at present. Feels as rotten as you look, I'd say. So, kindly bugger off."

With a parting Furnunculus and a snide comment that Potter should see to his own boil-covered countenance before worrying about another's, Snape pivoted on his heel and left, school robes billowing behind him.

- - -

Severus Snape had inherited many of his father's worst characteristics: the hooked nose, the oily hair, and, of course, the long-lived temper. That temper, quick to ignite and slow to fade, led Severus to actually follow the note's instructions on the 20th of September, 1975. If Remus Lupin felt the need to be disabused of his too-friendly notions at certain time and place, the Slytherin would do so--without mercy.

Thus, Severus abandoned his usual nighttime study spot and stole through the halls toward the front doors. All the while, he cursed Lupin, who was too 'ill' with nerves to confront Snape like a man. He cursed Potter, whose quidditch-trained muscles forced him to wait to deal with this. He cursed Pettigrew, who had likely encouraged the whole thing, the simpering wretch. But most of all, he cursed Black, who should have done them both a favor and never delivered that blasted note.

Severus slid out onto the grounds, glad that the full moon at least made things easy to navigate, and slunk around to the Whomping Willow. The teen levitated a broken branch to punch a knot at the base of the tree, which instantly stilled, just as the letter said it would. He ducked into the cramped, dirt tunnel hidden there. It was as damp and dim and cold as the dungeons in the old stone castle, but a great deal filthier. How terribly enchanting for a first date, Snape thought sarcastically.

"Lumos," he murmured.

Severus trudged through the twisting corridor until he finally found the trap door behind which Lupin was no doubt hiding. He flung it open with a snarl to find Remus waiting--stark naked. He looked anything but seductive, though.

The boy screamed. He gurgled. He wept. Bones snapped and skin boiled as Lupin writhed and twisted on stained, wooden floorboards, body flopping like a fish out of water through slats of moonlight.

And then suddenly it was all over.

One second, two, passed. Then two amber eyes snapped around to focus on Snape, who instinctively took a step back toward the door he had just come through.

"Oh," Severus breathed, "oh Merlin." His analytical mind took in the details in a split-second: thick bristles of light brown fur, upright ears, a tufted tale, four legs instead of two, and of course, those eyes that gleamed with all the malice Lupin in human form never showed.

"You're a werewolf."

As if it had been waiting for the human to figure that out, the beast drew back its gums in a hideous smile and lunged.

Snape dove back into the tunnel. The light at the end of his wand faltered. The world went dark, and in that darkness every sound was magnified: the sudden pounding of blood in ears, the scuff of dirt underneath skidding trainers, the thwump of paws on hard-packed earth, the inhuman howl of rage and hunger, two sets of panting lungs, and the keening "oh-Merlin-oh-Merlin-oh-Merlin" between shouts of "Stupefy! Homorphus! Quit dodging_,_ damn it!"

And then the rip of fabric! The squelch of skin and fat and muscle and blood! The shrikt of claw on bone--on scapula and ribs! A scream torn from a throat! A howl of victory! A new voice shouting "Snape!?"

Footsteps! Hoofbeats! Heartbeats! A yelp!

Silence.

"Snape? Snape? Can you hear me?"

"...Potter?"

"Come on. We gotta get out of here."

Severus was hefted to his feet. Agony blossomed across his back as deep claw-tracks were ripped open even further, but he managed to only hiss in pain. "Did you kill it?"

"No. Come on." Potter moved with practiced ease through the twining tunnels, an arm on Snape's elbow to lead him. The lack of a Lumos betrayed that James knew these tunnels, that he was part of this set-up.

"If you wanted to kill me, why did you stop it?"

"I would _never_ want-- Sirius-- We gotta get out of here."

The exit was deftly found; the willow, easily stilled. The moonlight blinded Severus after the pitch blackness underground, and the pristine stillness of the lawn and lake seemed to mock the boy after the horror he had just experienced. He supposed he should feel lucky that he could still appreciate the irony with a human mind, that he his back had been shredded but not bitten into, and that he was not a werewolf now himself. But he couldn't quite feel anything, and as he followed Potter back to the castle proper, Snape wondered if he was in shock.

A harried-looking Professor McGonagall met them at the school doors. "Thank Merlin, you're back," she said, and Severus wondered if she wasn't speaking more to James than him. He wondered how the woman had known they were gone in the first place. Was she in on this too? But that couldn't be right. The professor was stern, but she wasn't _cruel_--was she?

"Follow," McGonagall said tersely, and Potter automatically obeyed, dragging the still dazed Snape by the elbow. Severus recovered enough of himself to shake the arm free, but a few hallways later, his steps began to waver. Potter cast him a look that was part annoyance and part worry. He ruffled his hair nervously, then jogged the few steps to McGonagall's side.

"Professor," James said, darting his eyes exaggeratedly toward the lagging, pale-faced boy behind them.

McGonagall whirled around, misinterpreted the look, and snapped, "Mr. Snape, I believe I said, 'Follow.'" She caught the elbow James had only recently dropped and dragged Severus forward. He bit back a cry at the rough treatment, and noted absently that the entire back of his shirt felt quite soaked with what could only be his blood. He wondered if he'd bleed out before either of his two escorts noticed.

"I don't know _what_ you thought you were doing out after curfew," the teacher continued, "but I will not wait about while you think up your excuses. The Headmaster wishes to see you all _now_."

"'All'?" Potter queried.

"Yes, all," she replied. "You may have reported the infraction, but the professors at this school are hardly blind."

Severus repressed the impudent urge to laugh as the woman pulled him, heedless of his mauled back, toward the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's tower.

"You two and Misters Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew are like ants. Where there is one, the others are never far. And as Mr. Lupin is currently... indisposed..."

She _knew_, Snape thought. That was not the wording of someone who learned a half hour ago that her pupil was a ravenous monster. She knew there was a werewolf in the school and never once warned the other students.

"I had Mr. Filch collect your cohorts before coming after you myself," she finished. "Licorice wands."

The gargoyle leapt aside, and McGonagall led the way up the moving staircase toward Dumbledore's office. Severus' stomach twisted, though whether at the jarring motion or the prospect of facing the man behind the oak door at the top (who must have known about Lupin, too), he wasn't quite sure. The professor knocked and was bid to enter.

"Headmaster," she greeted.

"Minerva," the old man replied gravely, rising to meet her. "Boys. Please take a seat." He gestured toward a set of spindly chairs in front of his massive desk. Two of them were already occupied.

"Misters Pettigrew, Black," McGonagall acknowledged. Peter and Sirius beamed at their Head of House, but a disapproving glare had them slapping on contrite expressions. Severus nearly groaned at how convincing they looked; he wondered if he should even try to defend himself to Dumbledore or if they had already poisoned the man against him.

"I trust you can deal with this lot, Headmaster?"

"Of course, Minerva. Thank you."

The tartan-clad woman bowed out of the room, and to Severus, the soft click of the latch sliding home in the jamb after her seemed like the clang of a prison door.

The Headmaster sat back down in his overstuffed, over-patterned seat and gazed, one by one, at the four pupils before him. "Well," he finally said, "would you care to explain what happened here tonight?"

Severus met the older man's solemn blue gaze with a challenging black. "They tried to kill me, sir, with the werewolf you're hiding here."

There were angry squawks of denial from the other boys, but Dumbledore calmly ignored the barb. "That's a very serious charge, my boy. I know you all have something of a history, but you seem in remarkably _good_ health for an attempted _murder_."

Snape narrowed his eyes. His back was beginning to stick to the cushioned chair he was in. "I wasn't _bitten_, if that's what you mean."

"That _is_ good news," Dumbledore said, cheering noticeably. "But I am most intrigued as to how you discovered your classmate's unfortunate affliction."

"Snivellus was just sticking his great greasy nose where it didn't belong!" Sirius exclaimed. "Following poor Remy out there to do Merlin knows what! Probably chop him up for potion parts, the slime-ball!"

"Now, now, Mr. Black, name-calling is hardly becoming," the headmaster chided.

"B-But he's right, Headmaster," Peter piped up, watery eyes darting briefly to Snape. "Remus only ever tried to be friends with that snake--"

"Mr. Pettigrew," Dumbledore admonished.

"Th-that Slytherin, I mean!" Peter squeaked. "But Sniv--Snape was up to something! Always eyeing our Remy! So--So if Sirius wrote him that note, it's his own fault for following it like some pervert! Sirius is perfectly innocent!"

Black glared daggers at his cohort, who flushed bright red when he realized he'd just implicated his friend instead of exonerating him. Hope flared in Snape's heart at the mistake.

James shot Severus an almost apologetic look, then jumped to his housemate's defense, saying, "Really, Headmaster, you know Sirius. He may leap before he looks, but he's not _malicious_. He was just out for a laugh."

"'Out for a laugh'? 'Not malicious'?" Snape sneered. "Are we talking about the same Sirius Black?

"Headmaster, Black _forged_ a note changing where I meet Lupin to study. If _luring_ someone to where a _vicious_ monster is waiting to eat or infect you _isn't_ malicious, I don't know what is."

"Siri didn't _mean_--" James began.

"He gave me the letter a full day in advance, so it could hardly be argued that this plot was unmeditated," Snape spat.

"P-plot!?" Pettigrew cried. "It wasn't like-- We weren't _all_--"

Black shot the twitchy boy a scathing glance that shut him up mid-bluster.

Severus raised an eyebrow and turned back to the Headmaster. "Sir, Lupin _may_ be only an accessory here, but Black at least"--Severus hardly believed the other two Gryffindors were innocent, but Peter's accidental intimations and James' comments in the tunnel pinned Sirius as the mastermind--"deserves expulsion. Possibly a hearing before the Wizengamot, sir."

"Hm," the Headmaster said. His bushy eyebrows drew together in thought as the accused made puppy dog eyes at the man who'd always favored him.

Finally, Dumbledore nodded his shaggy white head and announced, "I believe what we have here is a prank gone horribly wrong."

"A _prank_!?" Severus choked.

"Yes, Mr. Snape, a prank. One in very poor taste, but still just a prank. I think you overestimate both Mr. Black's propensity for true evil and his ability to think about the consequences of his actions, even given a fairly lengthy period to think about them. Thus, I will be deducting 50 points, Sirius."

"Fifty points!" Sirius moaned. James elbowed his housemate in the ribs, and the boy quickly adopted a penitent look.

Dumbledore nodded gravely, then brightened. "I believe there are also some points to award, though. Mr. Potter has shown what good can come from the noble heart combined with a rather rash Gryffindor's mind. For your rescue of Mr. Snape--at risk to your own life and limb--James, I'll be awarding you 50 points."

"Fifty points?" James beamed. Peter and Sirius grinned broadly at him.

Emboldened by the gain, Pettigrew squeaked, "And Sniv-- Snape, sir?"

"Ah, normally I would be forced to dock points from Slytherin for breaking curfew, but I believe the fright he's had will discourage such misbehavior for the foreseeable future. Wouldn't you agree, my boy?"

Severus nodded mutely, unable to form words through his rage.

"Now, straight back to the dorms, the three of you. Mr. Snape and I have a few more things to discuss before we call it an evening."

Chairs scraped, and the door opened and closed.

"Severus, my boy--"

"I'm not your boy," Snape interrupted, somewhat surprised at how level his voice sounded when inside, he felt as mangled as his back.

Dumbledore frowned, looking as if he truly had no idea that a gross miscarriage of justice had just occurred. "I know this must be very difficult for you. It's not everyday one discovers a friend is not what you thought he was."

"That _thing_ is not and never has been my friend."

Dumbledore sighed.

"You're a very smart boy, Severus, but a little compassion might do you good.

"That 'thing' is a boy very much not in control of his circumstances. A boy just as much a victim in this as you are. I must insist you give your Word to keep silent about his condition. It's a very delicate situation, and I should hate to see the ministry called in for a near miss.

"And I'll need you to continue tutoring poor Remus, as well. It would raise suspicions..."

No. No! It had to be a joke. Secrecy was one thing, but this! If ever there were a situation calling for the negation of a partnership, near-cannibalism would be it! But the Headmaster's blue eyes were not twinkling in jest.

"If you will, then?"

Severus forced his jaw to unclench. "On my honor as a scion of the House of Prince--"

"Ah, no. Your _Word_, Severus."

Of course. The old man wanted more than an oath; he wanted Snape's Word as a Wizard, a magical binding just a step short of an Unbreakable Vow! It rendered the maker mute instead of dead if broken, but to a young wizard only beginning to experiment in nonverbal casting, it was potentially devastating. Severus told himself he shouldn't be surprised. If one ugly, unhappy Slytherin's life was only worth fifty house points--and not even that, once you factored in Potter's reward for chickening out on murder--why on earth should his mother's traditionally Slytherin bloodline count for anything more? Severus seethed inside but aloud intoned stoically, "I, Severus Snape, solemnly swear to make good on my word: to tell no man--"

"Or woman," Dumbledore cut in, leveling a sharp eye at the lad. "Or to write it."

"--Or woman, in speech or in writing, that Remis Lupin is a werewolf."

"So worded. So witnessed," the Headmaster said and aimed his wand. "So shall it be." A tongue of magical flame leapt forward to wrap itself around Snape's throat. It seared his skin, sank into his flesh, and left an angry red collar for half a second before that too faded out of sight, leaving the boy gasping but unscarred.

"And?" the old man asked expectantly.

Severus fought to control his breathing. "I... Severus Snape... solemnly swear to make good on my word: to demand no end to Remus Lupin's tutelage this year--"

"School year."

"--Of our schooling, though by right, I should be able to."

Dumbledore frowned, but nodded. "So worded. So witnessed. So shall it be." Once again spell-fire settled across the teen's vocal chords.

"If... that's... all?" the boy panted.

"Yes, Severus, it is. Thank you. Now I dare say you could do with a warm bath and a good night's rest."

Snape was too winded to even sneer at the man. He stood, wavered, and caught himself on the back of the seat he'd just vacated. Turning to leave the office, Severus felt... numb. He couldn't even take a twisted delight in the Headmaster's gasp of shock at finally fully seeing the boy's shredded back and the dark red stains on his chair. Snape couldn't gather up the energy to be angry that even the color of his blood betrayed him to Gryffindor.

"Severus! Mr. Snape!" Dumbledore called in alarm, but Snape ignored it. The old man had already made his opinion of the youth crystal clear. To be appraised at so little, held in such low regard that he had to be magically silenced while bleeding out... He pushed past the office door, stumbled down the spiral staircase, and skidded out into the main hallway. By the time he made it down the last few stairs to the dungeons, Severus' vision was swimming, and his brain was treading water.

Fifty points. The thought floated tauntingly at the surface of Snape's mind. Fifty fucking points from the golden Gryffindors for conspiracy to commit murder. You'd lose as much for seriously cheeking McGonagall.

Fifty points gross, but a net loss of zero. Because he was just a Slytherin. And just a Snape. And the most he could hope for was to serve the intended instrument of his demise and continue those damnable lessons with Lupin.

Severus watched the bit of wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin dorms tilt alarmingly right, then left, as if the very foundations of the school were no more stable than the sea. "Sextans," he muttered wearily, feeling unmoored instead of helmed by the password. The wall slid open, and Snape staggered inside. In the pale, green light of the common room, he was sure he looked just as sick as he felt. It was late, though, and no one was up to tell Severus he was right. He staggered into fifth-year boys' bedroom.

The absolute normalcy of Adrian Wilkes' snores slammed over Snape like a tsunami, washing away the last of his self-restraint, and he let out a short, soft sob. Tears began to prick at the boy's eyes as he fell into bed, thinking he was more likely to die there than merely sleep--and no one would care. For the first time since Black had dubbed him 'Snivellus' in first year, Severus let the threatening tears fall, and unconsciousness claimed him.

- - -

Severus woke late the next day, surprised to be alive.

Then he noticed the half-empty vials of Blood-Replenishing Potion and Dreamless Sleep on his bedside table. Closer inspection revealed the labels to be commercial, and thus not from the small, self-brewed pharmacy Snape kept locked in his trunk. The note beside the bottles confirmed Severus' suspicions about the potions' origins.

_'Snape, you prat,' _it began in Michael Mulciber's nearly illegible script.

_'I hope you're happy. I had to save your bleeding (literally) life with my personal potion supply--and you know how much Mother already bitches about keeping me stocked for quidditch. You'll be brewing me a bottle of each of BRP and DS to replace the ones you will no doubt finish once you wake (whenever that may be), plus an extra batch for my troubles. It's hard work forcing potions down an unconscious person's throat, you know._

_'Much put upon,_

_'Mulciber. _

_'P.S. What the hell happened? Those wounds wouldn't respond to direct magic at all. They'll scar spectacularly! _

_'P.P.S. Next time you plan on battling whatever it was, take me with you! Binn's homework is bloody boring, and it must have been some show!'_

Snape quickly downed the potions, ignoring his muscles' scream of protest at the movement, and thinking, just before blackness overtook him once more, how he would take one politic Slytherin over four supposedly noble Gryffindors any day.

- - -

When Severus next struggled back into consciousness, there was a new note on his nightstand.

_'Snape, you prat,'_ this one said.

_'Your absences in class this morning lost Slytherin a total of 50 points. Excessive, I know, even for McGonagall. She's usually a hard ass, but man, were her whiskers in a real knot today--probably run out of catnip, again. Do you think she laces her drink with the stuff? Anyway, I'm sure you can earn them all back. Old Slughorn offered points to "any enterprising students who feel the need for some advanced brewing in preparation for the OWLs." Like that's what anyone'll be brewing down there. Heh. Do try to drag yourself up for dinner, though. I'd hate to have your die after all my hard work._

_'Duly concerned over our chance for the House Cup,_

_'Mulciber.'_

Snape let out a sharp bark of laughter.

Fifty points. He had been unconscious for nearly two days after self-medicating for wounds that, due to the lupine nature of the classmate who inflicted them, could not be closed by magical means. And for this, they had taken points.

Severus felt ill again--acutely so--and stumbled to the loo.

He emptied what little was still left in his stomach, moaning softly as every heave agitated his scabbed back and shoulder. Then, Snape carefully washed his face, maneuvered into a clean Hogwarts robe, and gathered the books he'd need for Care of Magical Creatures. The sight of Narcissa Black holding court with the younger girls in the common room stopped Severus dead in his tracks. The young woman was going over some missive she'd received from her fiancé, somehow interpreting yet another of Lucius Malfoy's diatribes as some kind of coded love letter.

Lucius. Codes_. _Snape was struck by inspiration. He dropped his books and immediately made for the owlery. Narcissa looked up briefly, then shrugged, and went back to her wedding plans.

Crouching in the hay of the aviary, Severus inked his quill and began to write:

_'Esteemed Lord Malfoy_,

_'I pray you forgive this unsolicited correspondence, but as you always availed yourself to younger students during your prefecture at this zoo they call a school, I hope writing you now is not too bold. I will cut straight to the point. I recently witnessed exactly how serpents are treated by the reputedly humane Albus Dumbledore, and the man is not fit to make change at the Magical Menagerie! As a housemate of your fiancé, I am often regaled with stories of your devotion to certain social causes, especially the proper care and treatment of magical creatures. As such, I understand that the proprietor of your favorite shelter, a fellow lord I believe, has a fondness for reptiles? If I may, I ask that you venture a proposition to him on my behalf--I have a snake in need of a home. _

_'Awaiting your kind response,_

_'Severus Snape.'_

The answering scroll was dropped in Severus' breakfast by a striking eagle owl. After a quick Evanesco to rid the parchment of grease, the fifth-year read:

_'Dear Mr. Snape, _

_'There is no need to apologize for your letter. I was glad to receive it, though understandably less glad about the circumstances that necessitated it. Please let your housemates (barring young Ms. Black, who takes too many liberties with my name and time as it is) know that I remain at their disposal, even though I am no longer in their dormitory. As for whatever tales Ms. Black has been spinning, keep in mind that there is no falser creature than one in heat; it will do anything to secure its mate. On this point, however, Ms. Black is correct: I am indeed a lover of oft overlooked animals, and it seems to me that your current zookeeper forgets he runs more than just a big cat enclosure. He has specialized in the care of mammals at the expense of his snakes, and frankly, it is a wonder he has yet to be bitten. The associate you referenced, however, is an experienced snake handler, and he is most anxious to see the creature you described in a better environment. As his representative in this matter, I believe it would be best to negotiate the terms of transfer face-to-face, where you could explain in detail the specific needs of this species. I understand there is a Hogsmeade outing next weekend. Perhaps we could meet then? _

_'Cordially yours,_

_'Lord Lucius Malfoy.'_

Snape's reply was a grant total of three lines long: salutation, _'of course,'_ and signature.

- - -

The first Saturday of October dawned bright and clear, and if Severus had been the type to appreciate such things, he might have said it was one of the loveliest fall days he had ever seen. Snape was not that type, though, and even if he had been, he was far too busy dodging his roommates and Lily Evans to weather-watch. Snape was disgusted with the lot of them, Slytherins and Gryffindor alike, for he had managed to side-step the oath Dumbledore coerced from him by hinting (rather than stating directly) that docile little Lupin was a raging lycanthrope. In light of the upcoming holiday, though, his friends had taken it as a joke. Their pre-Halloween skepticism made Snape want nothing more than to sit and to stew in his alternating numbness and fury. It was, he decided, rather like potions. Boil for x amount of time. Allow no contaminates. Then add the correct catalyst...

Severus' catalyst awaited him at the entrance of the Hogs Head Tavern in Hogsmeade, and he resolutely followed the smiling Lord Malfoy away from the bright, crowded stores on High Street into the dark, dust-moted bar. Over glasses of x.o. cognac in surprisingly clean glasses, the two young men mused over the relative values of lions, birds, and badgers--with Snape dropping some speculation on wolves in the mix--before settling down to the matter at hand: the price of one serpent's soul.

In the end, it was sold rather cheaply and rather quickly. It was, Snape would decide later, a matter of context. Anything seems a fine offer compared to a pittance of house points.

So, when Lucius extended a hand and asked with a hungry smile, "You'll join us on Winter Solstice, then? It'll be a bit of Christmas come early," Severus could only take a fortifying gulp of brandy and remind himself that smile meant he was wanted.

"I'll be there," he answered and did his best to tamp down the foreboding that filled his stomach as the deal was sealed.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co. They are the property of J. K. Rowling._

_Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from "Snape's Worst Memory" in OotP and "The Prince's Tale" in DH._

_Thanks: To Lola Little, my lovely beta reader._

_A/N: This story covers the 1975/76 school year. Leaps in time are denoted by '- - -' between sections. '- - - Initials - - -' indicates narrator point-of-view._

_Warning: This work is rated M for a reason! It deals with themes of violence, sexuality, rape, and suicidal thought. Reader discretion is advised._

**Commutability**

**Chapter 2**

"Pain, without love. Pain, I can't get enough. Pain, I like it rough 'cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all."

--Three Days Grace, "Pain"

- - - LM - - -

Lord Lucius Malfoy was a man who enjoyed the finer things in life. Being young and rich and powerful (and backed by the darkest dark wizard of the age), Lucius felt no need _not_ to indulge himself. So, he enjoyed the handsomest of homes and the handsomest of robes and the handsomest of ministry drones in his pocket and in his bed.

Severus Snape was by no means handsome.

The boy was wan and gaunt with greasy hair, prominent cheekbones, and an even more prominent nose. But staring at the boy on December 21st--bright-eyed from the ambient energy of his first Dark Revel and splattered with the blood of some muggle he was butchering for potion parts--Malfoy knew there was no more erotic sight on earth.

Had anyone asked, Lucius doubted he could have explained in the allure of too-sharp angles, crisp contrast, and the sort of joie de mort that graced Snape's homely face. Perhaps it was merely that those angles, that contrast, and morbid glee were _different_ than soft curves, sweet pastels, and besotted displays, _different_ than the girl he was supposed to wed in six months time, _different_ than Narcissa Black. Perhaps it was that nothing could quite say 'fuck you, Father, for betrothing me to that simpering chit' like angles and contrast and grim delight. Perhaps it was just the corrupting influence of Unforgivable Curses.

In any case, Malfoy knew he wanted nothing to do with the youngest Black. She was beautiful as any of the lovers he was cultivating for high places, but Narcissa had no potential beyond the petty world of tea parties and formal balls, so Lucius had no use for her. She was the kind of girl you saw framed in the homes of nouveaux riches, painted atop clam shells and draped in diaphanous fabric, a vapid smile on her pretty face. Lucius preferred _provocative _to_ pretty_. Severus, despite his flawed pedigree (or perhaps because of it), fit the former to a tee.

Coming to the abrupt decision that he _would_ have the child, Lucius ripped off his Death Eater mask and stalked toward his prey.

- - - SS - - -

Hearing boot-heels crunch down the gravel path toward his post-Revel workshop, Severus Snape carefully sealed a bottle of human bile and looked up from his little red-haired cadaver. He expected yet another congratulation on his hours-old Dark Mark. What he got instead was the flushed face and tangled hair of the usually immaculate Lord Malfoy, fast encroaching on his personal space. Then the man's lips were crashing down on his own, and Lucius' demanding tongue was thrusting into the boy's slack-jawed mouth. With a start, the 15-year-old shoved his assailant back.

"Malfoy! What--?" Snape sputtered.

A vice-like grip caught Severus' arm and held him immobile while the senior Death Eater silently caressed his cheek, smearing the congealing blood there with the pad of a thumb. Snape could only stare, horrified, as his compatriot brought the stained digit up to his mouth, sucked on it, moaned in appreciation.

"Malfoy--"

The older man swooped in again, and Snape clamped his jaw firmly shut. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or revolted when Lucius bypassed his mouth and instead swiped his cheek with a slick tongue. Unyielding hands forced the rail-thin boy flush against his elder, making Severus terrifyingly aware of an unyielding hardness pressed against his hip. Revolted, he decided. Definitely revolted! He began to struggle in earnest. If he could just reach--

"Expelliarmus!" Malfoy snarled. Thirteen and a half inches of ebony shot into Lucius' palm, and he deftly tossed Snape's wand away before pulling the flailing youth back against him. "Don't pretend you don't want this, Sev. No girlfriend at your age. Spending all that time with Narcissa; she's a--what's the term? 'Fag hag'? It's _obvious_ you swing this way."

"I don't!" Severus shouted, twisting in the direction his wand had been thrown.

"That's what started your little feud with Black and Potter, isn't it? You were _looking_ at their little brunette. What's his name? Ermine? Something small and furry."

"Lupin," Snape growled. He kicked at Malfoy's shins.

"Lupin," Lucius echoed, hooking a leg behind Severus' knees and toppling them both onto the cold, wet ground. The larger man jerked Snape's arms behind his back and quickly bound the slim wrists with a ruthlessly tight Incarcerous. Giving his prey a wolfish grin, the man continued, "It's not what I'd call the little bitch. Canine, perhaps, but lupine? Seems more like a cocker to me, sweet and eager to please. Your charm doesn't really work on that type."

"Work!" Severus latched onto the word like a drowning man to a life preserver. "My work, Malfoy!" He jerked his head toward the russet curls of the child he'd been gutting. "The Dark Lord will be furious if she rots!"

"Oh, Severus," Lucius drawled, "there will be _other_ dead muggles. Diffindo." Snape's robes neatly fell apart at the seams, revealing-- "_Muggle_ _jeans_, Sev? Well," Malfoy called, turning to the Death Eaters who had begun to gather round and watch the show, "who wants to see me take off Severus' pants?"

The ever-present seed of apprehension in Snape's abdomen sprouted into full-blown panic. Severus hadn't been allowed to cast at the Revel--"What on earth would we do," the Dark Lord had asked smoothly, "if Dumbledore found Crucio or Kedavra on your wand, Snape?"--but he had watched the others play. Malfoy, he knew, was merciless and slow and thrived on the voyeur aspect.

With a sharp, shallow breath, Snape bucked and threw himself sideways. He rolled, rose on unbound feet, and took two steps toward his wand when a hurled Impedimenta brought him crashing back down. His panic was stronger than the curse, though. He pushed himself back onto his knees.

"A valiant attempt," Lucius laughed. He settled heavily on Severus' calves. An elbow between the shoulder blades shoved the boy face-down in the mud, and Petrificus locked him in place.

Snape could do nothing but slam his eyes shut against tears of rage as he heard the zip of his fly being undone and felt the pale hand that months before was extended in friendship shove down his trousers and underwear. He could feel Malfoy positioning himself behind him, feel the gravel cutting into his cheek, feel--

Pain!

Dark eyes shot open in agony, only to be confronted by the black-cloaked legs of jeering spectators.

Pain! A sickening, steady rhythm.

Laughter. Cat-calls.

Pain!

Hoots. Applause. Abject humiliation.

Pain!

Anger impotent, stomach trying to turn itself inside-out, Severus sank into the welcoming numbness of his mind.

- - -

He came to, alone, in the Forbidden Forest.

How odd, Severus thought, staring down at his wet, filthy jeans and rope-burned wrists. He had no idea how he'd gotten there. His normally eidetic memory was a fragmented montage of sounds and images: bloodless faces, a red-headed child, incoherent screaming, sudden silence, the gleam of a scalpel, tousled blond hair, gravel.

Odd.

Snape pushed onto his feet, then bit back a curse as pain exploded from this backside. Memory crashed down relentlessly, and the world tipped violently sideways.

- - -

When Severus came to again, he was not surprised to find decomposing leaf-litter added to the unsightly mixture of mud, blood, and... other fluids on his person. He _was_ surprised by the tear tracks that had washed half his face, and he wiped roughly at them. He hoped in a detached sort of way that he had waited until his second blank-out to break down. Bad enough the Gryffindors called him Snivellus; he didn't need the Death Eaters picking it up, too.

Snape fought down a hysterical giggle. Of all the things to be worried about, _name-calling..._ The boy shook his head and forced himself to stand on jellied legs. Pain lanced along his nerves, and Severus bit down hard on his tongue to keep from crying out. He braced himself on a rotting log and forced his breath into even puffs that steamed the damp December air and filled his mouth with the taste of blood. Finally, the teen turned his attention outward again and took stock of his situation.

The night was quiet and cold and dark beneath the forest canopy, nearly as dark as the passage to the Shrieking Shack or the robes Death Eaters wore or the look in wild, grey eyes just before-- Severus shifted focus. The bark of the tree under his hand was smooth, smooth as pale, manicured hands had been or as glistening, curved claws. Mulciber had been right. The scars from that September night were quite impressive. This latest encounter with monstrosities would leave no lasting marks, though, at least not physically. Snape laughed aloud. Of all the things to be thinking of, _vanity_... The laugh turned into a sob.

Severus bit down again on his tongue to stifle the sound. There were _things_ in the forest. Not werewolves tonight--the moon was waning--but there were _things_ nonetheless. Things that could smell the blood and sex and death on him. Things that knew by heart the sounds that injured animals made. Snape wrapped his arms around his waist in an attempt to still his panicked breaths and clenching stomach, but the nausea spiraled up and up until acid burned his throat and bile spilled onto rotting detritus and Severus trembled in exhaustion.

He felt helpless and young, not at all the way a new initiate of Lord Voldemort should feel. Was this, Snape wondered, how his little redhead felt when the men came with their bone white masks and their grim reaper robes for her and her family? Was this how she felt when they pointed their sticks and spoke their strange words and her father screamed and her mother wept and her brother howled and she could barely summon up the breath to whimper and he, Severus Snape, stood by not in horror but in awe? Was this how she felt when the flash of spell-light turned her blue eyes green? Abrakadabra. Avada Kedavra. Two little words, and it was over. A mercy, by then.

Severus shoved his hands in his pockets in an attempt to still the tremors that he refused to attribute to anything but the winter cold and wondered if it was possible to will oneself dead.

It took a moment for Snape's mind to switch gears and register what his frozen fingers found in his trouser pocket.

Severus stopped short.

A wildly trembling hand pulled a long, smooth, ebony stick into view--his wand! A bark of wild-edged laughter tumbled across a bloodied tongue. Snape had only brief impressions of how it came back to him: a large, calloused hand on his elbow, gently drawing him away, away from the gravel path and the grinning Death Eaters and... _Lucius_... The matching hand had held two wands, one light, one dark... and then something had squeezed Severus tight, too tight, sucking him up like a bit of ice through a narrow straw and spitting him back out in Scotland.

Snape shook his head. No matter how it happened, Severus was hardly going to look a gift-horse in the mouth. Two little words... "Av-avada... Avada... Abrakadabra... Point me," the boy begged. The wand in his hand spun 90 degrees, away from his heart and into the woods. The young wizard swallowed hard and set off in the direction of Hogwarts castle.

After speaking aloud, the silence of the forest seemed to settle even more heavily upon the boy. Every rustling leaf and creaking tree echoed loudly in Snape's mind, and despite the comforting warmth of the wand in his hand, Severus suddenly came to the blood-freezing realization that he was alone in the Forbidden Forest. Alone and injured and just fifteen years old in the forest that, according to _Hogwarts, A History_, was the final resting place of a half dozen fully trained wizards. Just as well that he couldn't kill himself; this place would most likely do it for him. There were no werewolves tonight, but what of acromantulas? What of wild hippogriffs, thestrals, or red caps? What of the other, unnamed horrors from whom no one had escaped to tell the story? What if the gentle hand that brought Snape here wasn't trying to help at all? What if it was merely disposing of evidence, hiding the proof of after-hours fun Lord Voldemort might or might not approve of? What if--

A twig snapped in the distance and there was a sound--a hoot or a howl or a growl, Severus wasn't quite sure--because the nausea once again cramped into panic, and shards of ice were in his veins, and his legs were pumping at their absolute fastest despite the agony that flared at every stride and the blood that was sliding down his thigh, but it didn't matter because he was going to be hurt, he was going to be hurt again.

Snape hurtled out of the thinning trees and the thorny underbrush, and the ancient school came into view. Severus nearly wept from the sight. The lake, the lawn, and the courtyard flew by. Then the great oak doors of Hogwarts were yielding to the boy's touch, and he was home and safe.

The castle halls were as quiet and cold and dark as the woods had been, but it was good and right.

The adrenaline that had spiked through the boy on his mad dash through the woods abandoned him then, leaving Snape shaky and weak. He spared a glance at the skull-and-snake tattoo on his inner arm. The hours-old Dark Mark was supposed to make him strong and sure...

Severus stumbled down the stairs.

With a muttered "Ophiuchus," the empty Slytherin common room opened to him.

How had Lucius described this night? 'A bit of Christmas come early'? Limping past his dorm-mates' empty beds, Snape imagined the lot of them, happy and spoiled in their opulent homes amid their holiday preparations. Shivering, Severus headed for the nearest shower, cranked the water up as warm as it would go, and without bothering to strip, sank down into the stall to wash away the night.

- - -

Over the next several weeks, Severus Snape decided that he must be living in some kind of waking nightmare. That was the only explanation (besides a karmic Diffindo) for why he was coming apart at the seams. The most innocuous things sent him into fits of noisy tears or vomiting. He found he could not abide the sound of zippers or the feel of denim or the scent of blood pudding or the sight of sausage dishes or any number of other previously mundane experiences.

The school staff remained astonishingly oblivious. Just one week into the new term, they were all quietly amused by how the previously indomitable Slytherin had apparently succumbed to pre-OWL jitters. It was pathetically negligent, really. Between the visible flinches when Professor Flitwick unexpectedly corrected his wrist movements and the nearly catatonic flashbacks one of Professor McGonagall's transfigurations triggered, someone should have noticed something a bit more amiss than simple nerves. If nothing else, Snape's reaction in Potions when that klutz Gudgeon spilt a vial of salamander blood on him should have tipped off Professor Slughorn. The musky, metallic scent stilled Severus as surely as a body bind, and he sat for five full minutes, insensate to the urgent whispers of Evan Rosier at his side, until his neglected potion exploded. Slughorn merely shrugged and said jovially, "Suppose there's a first time for everything, eh?" Snape supposed he shouldn't have expected anything else from the useless lump, Head of House or not.

Severus' dorm-mates were much harder to fool. He had never been a noisy sleeper--not like Wilkes, whose snores could rouse the Inferi--but the complete silence behind his bed-curtains spoke rather loudly of a Silencing Charm. His frequent trips after breakfast to the second-floor loo--when everyone knew one only went there to commiserate with Moaning Myrtle--were also less than discreet. The real kicker, though, came on the weekend of Snape's birthday. He was walking down to Hogsmeade with Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, and Wilkes when a glance at the loose stone path set off an impressive display of dry heaving. When those black-robed figures circled Severus in concern, he couldn't help but curl violently in on himself. Sorrowful, knowing glances followed the dark-haired boy back to the castle after the celebration was called off, and Snape desperately hoped they were not really so knowing. He recalled the distinct silhouettes of Avery and Rosier, Senior, though--so like their sons--in the circle of Death Eaters two weeks prior. Despite the Slytherin proclivity for keeping secrets, Severus' gut told him with unsettling certainty that at least one father had leaked the evening's events to his son, then the son, to the dorm, and from there... He stifled a shiver at the thought.

The atmosphere in Slytherin was strained after that: an uneasy mingling of respect and pity, which of course, was never remarked upon. Snape rather thought the rash of practical jokes that followed (culminating in some spectacularly embarrassing Compulsion Charms on poor Mary Macdonald) were meant as a sort of apology for uncovering the unhappy information. Quid pro quo and all.

Unfortunately, those pranks seemed to reopen the floodgates to Sirius Black's temper, which had been held in check for the last semester as the boy tried to make amends with Remus Lupin. The exiled Gryffindor seemed to hold Severus personally responsible for both the Slytherins' escapades and Remus' unyielding cold shoulder.

Certainly, the continuing Potions tutorials didn't help--never mind that the sessions would have ended months ago if not for the Headmaster's meddling. Had Lupin bothered to compare his notes against his housemates', he might have realized that something was wrong. Snape had sworn to continue teaching the werewolf, not to continue teaching him _well_, and now he was inextricably associated with Lucius Malfoy in Severus' mind. Thus, Snape spent most of his time in the library thinking not about school but increasingly violent revenge fantasies. Fantasies that easily switched from casting Confringo at Malfoy's hungry, slate eyes to the amber ones that saw him as a more literal piece of meat. Fantasies of Sectumsempras that splashed hot, fresh blood across a shocked, aristocratic face as often as they did across a tawny-pelted muzzle. Fantasies where Langlock trapped Lucius' corrupting tongue inside his own damn mouth and as surely as it shut Remus' infectious maw. Fantasies that delved into the darkest realms of reciprocal justice and displaced anger.

Through it all, Lupin continued to show up with smiles and gratuitous thanks, thinking Snape was meeting with him because he wanted to. Black seemed no more observant than his former friend and was furious for it. But Sirius, at least, made no pretense of having some gentler nature. Homo homini lupis: man is to man a wolf. Why deny it?

Black cast Conjunctivitis Curses, Stinging Hexes, and one Leg-Locker Curse that sent Severus crashing down a flight of stairs. Those were nothing compared to what the boy attempted at the beginning of the school year, though, and the thought that the Gryffindor might need an audience for full effect was a little too familiar for comfort. Still, in a perverse sort of way, Severus enjoyed their altercations. He enjoyed Sirius' straight-forward hatred and the purely physical pain he limped away with. It kept him grounded. It kept him sane. And loath as he was to admit it, Snape knew that without Black, he would have done just as well to cast Leviosa on himself and drift away.

Thus, when Sirius was quarantined in the infirmary for an entire week with Dragon Pox, Severus was left feeling acutely unanchored. He knew that it was February. Possibly a Tuesday. But beyond that... He sat against a low, stone wall and stared into the gathering gloom of the courtyard, not entirely sure how he had come to be there, when from the corner of his eye, a flash of color--

Red curls.

A too-pale face.

Spell-light turning blue eyes green.

Sudden, deafening silence.

"Severus Snape!"

Snape flinched violently backward, and Lily Evans winced at the loud crack of skull meeting masonry. The boy in question blinked back instinctual tears and the memory of December and stared up with pain-induced lucidity at his friend. Evans' auburn hair fell more in waves than curls. Her skin was creamy instead of bloodless. Her eyes were naturally green. Severus allowed himself to relax just a bit, assured that Lily was her own, living self and not an apparition of the dead.

"Evans," he replied, pushing the image of a half-eviscerated corpse to the back of his mind.

"Don't you 'Evans' me," the girl said, setting fists akimbo, "like we haven't known each other since we were kids! Though, with how little time you spent with me this year, you could have just _forgotten_ the 'Lily' part. Honestly, you'd think it was me and not Black with Dragon Pox! I thought we were _friends_, Sev! Best friends!"

Severus' temper flared at the nickname--his mind overlaying the endearment with Malfoy's drawl. He sneered and stood. "Yes, do blame me, who has one of _your_ housemates to tutor and another to avoid death by, not to mention OWLs to revise for, extra credit for Slughorn, and my _own_ house to deal with, for not tracking you down in my _copious_ excess of free time. I tried to talk to you before Halloween, and as _I_ recall, you brushed me off." Batting his black eyes mockingly, Snape cried, "Oh, _Lily_, I thought we were supposed to be friends! _Best_ friends!"

"We _are_, Sev!" Evans grimaced, embarassed. "But..." She collapsed against a pillar, seeming for half a second to need its support before gathering her Gryffindor bravery. "I don't like some of the people you're hanging around with. I'm sorry, but I _detest_ Avery and Mulciber. Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev? He's creepy! Do you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?"

Of course he knew. It was practically a 'get well' card. "That was nothing. It was a laugh, that's all."

"It was dark magic, and if you think that's funny--"

_That_--dark magic? Ha. But Snape could hardly tell the girl what _real_ dark magic looked like, that it was the same green as her eyes, so: "What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?"

"What's Potter got to do with anything?"

What did Potter--? Only _everything_! If James Potter was half as decent as everyone claimed he was, he would have reined in his lackeys long ago. But no, Potter and Black and those bloody Marauders orchestrated that accursed Saturday 'under the moonlight'! They got away with only a slap on the wrist while he damn near died, and what was _supposed_ to be his saving grace turned into a public rape! And damn it all, he thought, feeling the threatening tug of magic around his throat, he wasn't even allowed to speak about it! "They sneak out at night. There's something _weird_ about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?" Severus asked.

"He's ill. They say he's ill."

"Every month at the full moon?"

"I know your theory." Lily's eyes narrowed to slivers and suddenly, something clicked behind those too-green eyes. "Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you _care_ what they're doing at night?"

Snape knew innuendo when he heard it, and he would _not_ listen to it from Evans! Not her! "I'm just trying to show you they're not as wonderful as everyone seems to _think_ they are," he spat.

Lily flushed, caught, and mumbled, "They don't use dark magic, though. And you're being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the night you went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow. James Potter _saved_ you from whatever's down there."

"Saved? _Saved!?_" Severus shouted. "You think he was playing the _hero_? He was saving _his_ neck and his friends', too. You not going to-- I won't let you--"

"Let me? Let me!?" Evans' eyes were hard, cut stone.

"I didn't mean--" Damn it, this was why he normally kept such a tight rein on his mouth. Grasping for a distraction, he tossed out: "I just don't want to see you made a fool of. James Potter fancies you. And he's not-- Everyone thinks-- Big quidditch hero--"

Lily arched an eyebrow at the display. "I know James Potter's an arrogant toe-rag. I don't need you to tell me that."

Snape relaxed, thanking Merlin Evans took the bait.

"But Mulciber and Avery's idea of humor is just evil. _Evil_, Sev. I don't understand how you can be friends with them."

Severus made a conscious effort not to tighten his shoulders and turned to stare at the girl as she defamed his housemates yet again. They--the 'slimy gits' of Slytherin house--had damn well saved his life and tried their best to save his sanity, while she just proved herself every bit as prejudiced as those she professed to hate.

Quietly, lethally, he said, "Sometimes, I don't understand how I can be friends with _you_. Such a noble Gryffindor." And with that, the boy pivoted on his heel and strode off, leaving Lily blinking dumbly behind him.

After that fit of pique, Snape was understandably surprised when, the next evening, Evans waltzed up to the library table he was sharing with Lupin and plopped herself down in a chair. "Hi Remy! Sev!" she chirped.

Severus arched one coal-black eyebrow, and cut through Remus' cheerful reply: informing her that his name had three syllables--she'd do well to use them--and demanding an explanation for her presence. Evans' temper was as fiery as her hair; it tended to flare and then quickly extinguish, but not _this_ quickly.

The girl shot him a saccharine smile and replied, "_Severus_, silly, I'm studying with you!" She fished a roll of parchment from her bag and batted her eyes.

Snape glowered in return. "How kind of you to ask permission first."

"Wasn't it though? Professors Slughorn and Dumbledore certainly seemed pleased. Delighted, in fact, at your _noble_ display of inter-house cooperation. Two Gryffs in one term, and one a muggle-born, at that!"

Severus forced back a snarl. He had no qualms letting Lily know he was furious--and also begrudgingly impressed--at being maneuvered once again into an unwanted sponsorship, but he refused to do so in front of Remus. Between Lupin's human sense of chivalry and wolfish pack solidarity, Snape didn't trust the creature not to tear him limb from limb if he so much as said a foul word in the girl's presence.

Lily, who had long ago learned to read the minutest shifts in Severus' expression, noticed the the slight tightening of his mouth that heralded defeat, and giggled.

"Gryffindors," Snape sneered. Even _Narcissa Black_ didn't _giggle_.

Remus, who had completely missed the byplay, could only blink in confusion as the Slytherin indicated Lily could stay.

With this addition to their little study group, Severus swung back into proper teaching form, and the following Saturday saw the three mismatched teens once again gathered in the library.

The next day, Black was released from the hospital wing, but was too busy with his make-up work to do any more than glare threateningly at Snape in the hallways. Severus wasn't sure whether to be elated or upset at the loss of his cornerstone, and so threw himself even further into the three-way study sessions in a vain attempt at regaining his sense of normalcy.

After five years of meeting only twice or thrice a month outside of classes, it felt odd to see Evans so regularly. It was stranger still to do so under Lupin's curious gaze. Lily was as infuriatingly cheerful as possible, having wormed her way in a point-proving tutelage. Her ease with the situation rankled. Still, that unrepentant passion soothed Snape in a way Lupin's deceptively mild manners never could. Evans didn't try to surreptitiously cast Cheering Charms on him like Lupin did and instead engaged in battles of wit. Instead of moping like Lupin when something didn't make sense, Lily demanded answers. And when her unsociable tutor glared wordlessly and shoved some monstrous text or another at her, she just batted those startlingly green eyes of hers and dove into the tome. Evans wasn't afraid to work for what she wanted. She had integrity. She had a surprisingly Slytherin side. And slowly, without his conscious knowledge, Snape's feelings for her slowly slid from equal amounts of awkward platonic adoration and irritation to something deeper. Something fuller. Something suspiciously like _like_. Even like lov--

No. _No_. Absolutely not. And yet... Severus buried his head in his hands when the realization struck, earning him a few odd looks from his housemates at the breakfast table. While he couldn't yet fathom sexual relations outside the realm of lex talionis, Severus Snape had to admit (if only to himself) that he was undeniably, unbearably smitten with Lily Evans.

Which was bad. _Very_ bad.

She was a muggle-born. He was a Death Eater.

She was a Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin.

She had caught James Potter's eye. The _last_ thing Severus wanted to do was come under that boy's scrutiny again. If Black's retaliation to the perceived theft of his best friend was attempted murder, to which Snape had responded by binding himself to a dark wizard, he didn't want to _think_ about what Potter would do in response to the _actual_ theft of his crush, or what _he_ would do in response to that.

Severus _knew_ his place in the precarious power play of the defunct Dream Team. Remus may have been a werewolf, but anyone could see the beast was no born leader. With Black gone, that role fell to Potter, and in a wolf pack, only the alpha male and female were allowed to mate. For Snape, whose continued lessons with Lupin made him a barely tolerable omega, making a move on Evans was tantamount to signing his death warrant.

Looking back on it later, Severus would wonder if that wasn't exactly what he was trying to do when he accepted Lily's offer of a last-minute cram session before the Charms OWL. Alone. In an unused classroom. After hours.

- - - JP - - -

From under his invisiblity cloak, James Potter could only stare in disbelief at the scene before him. Evans--gorgeous, vivacious, head-strong Lily Evans, who wouldn't give him the time of day--was smiling--_smiling!_--at Snivellus Snape. Not an unusual occurance in itself, unfortunately, but she was doing so after the greasy git hosed her down with an Aguamenti Charm whose aim that left no doubt as to the cut and color of her bra! If _James_ had cast that spell on the girl, he was sure to have gotten a hex instead of a smile! Hoping his eyes were deceiving him, Potter ripped off his glasses, wiped them down on his shirttail, and shoved them back on his face. The scene remained unchanged.

Lily, whose outer robe lay discarded on a nearby desk, looked positively scandalous. Her crisp, white button-down had turned translucent in the water and clung to her figure in all the right places, even dimpling slightly over the lace of her lavender bra. Even the wet tee-shirt contest the Marauders saw on Remus' television last summer didn't compare.

Evans pushed loose, water-darkened hair out of her face, leaving just a few auburn tendrils clinging seductively to her slender neck and exclaimed, "Much better, Severus!"

Snape colored and murmured, "Perhaps an Impervius first, next time."

Lily looked down, as if noticing her see-through blouse for the first time. With a coy look that sent James' hormones pinging between lust and jealousy, she deftly cast a Drying Charm on herself. Potter was sad to see her blouse turn opaque again.

Evans shook her head. "No, you couldn't do _that_. Showing consideration for others? Why, it would wreak havoc on your cold, heartless reputation!" She leaned in, fingering the house crest on Snape's chest, and asked slyly, "Isn't there some Slytherin code against that? Against _not_ taking... advantage of a situation?" She smiled invitingly, and James kicked over the nearest desk.

The two leapt apart, and Potter barely repressed the urge to jump between them and wrap his hands around the other boy's scrawny little neck. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed out, giving no mind to the startled shouts of the room's other occupants as a second table seemed to tip itself over and the door slammed open and shut.

On his furious march back up to Gryffindor Tower, James congratulated himself on his restraint. Lily had a temper, but she hated physical violence. If Potter actually throttled her-- her-- James refused to think of Snivellus as her boyfriend! It was just wrong! Merlin, when had _that_ happened? _How_ had that happened? Snape _must_ have poisoned her! Some love potion was the only explanation.

"Oh, Lily," James sighed in pity. Well, he'd just have to show her what a devious little sleaze Snivellus really was. The desire to go pound in Snape's face right now was strong, but James told himself, he had done the right thing by walking away. After all, revenge was a dish best served cold. And with the help of Sirius Black.

Yes, the Marauders had been separated all year because of that Slytherin creep, and it was high time they were reunited. Prongs was inexpressibly grateful he had finally listened to Padfoot's warnings (though their exact content proved wrong in the end). For the past few months, the boy had gone on and on about how Snivellus was making overtures toward Remy (who remained blissfully ignorant) and had begged James to look into the matter, "since you don't trust _me_ to take care of Moony, anymore."

Potter had been livid at the accusation in his ex-best mate's tone. Of _course_ he didn't trust Sirius anymore! James may have defended his idiot friend to the Headmaster, but that didn't mean he could just forgive and forget! Black nearly got their friend put down like a rabid dog! The boy _knew_ the mandates of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures--they had researched it when they first found out about Lupin's 'furry problem'--and he _knew_ what would happen if the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures got called in. That was largely why Sirius was so protective of Remus. That, and the fact that the grim's instincts seemed to have inexplicably spilled over into his human behavior. To have let his hatred for Snivellus so overshadow the pack-like fraternity the animagus shared with Moony... Or maybe it was the lens of that exclusive brotherhood that distorted Snape's grudging tutelage into what Black swore was attempted courtship. The boy had always been rather dim when it came to relationships outside of broom closets.

James, on the other hand, considered himself pretty astute. If Snivellus had ever thought of Remy in a more than platonic way (highly doubtful), those feelings certainly died a painful death in the Shrieking Shack. The continued Potions tutorials, which were really the only incriminating evidence in Sirius' case, could easily be explained away. After all, what else could the Headmaster have wanted the Slytherin to stay behind for in his office except to order the lessons to go on?

Frankly, Potter had never seen Snape look at _any_ boy in anything remotely resembling lust--or any girl, for that matter. Sure, Snivellus followed Lily around like a lost puppy, but he always seemed like a _fixed_ puppy. Still, when Moony mentioned in passing some private, pre-OWL study session, Prongs felt obliged to check it out. Just in case.

James aimed an angry kick at the wall, wishing it was Snivellus' ugly mug, and cursed violently when the masonry proved harder than his foot. He wanted the satisfaction of kicking in those crooked teeth--teeth that dared smile back at _his_ love interest. He wanted to watch those beetle black eyes--eyes that _never_ should have looked above their owner's station--widen in shame and pain. He wanted to watch scarlet bloom across that too-pale skin--skin that colored oh so unattractively in Evans' presence--when he punched that crooked nose in. He'd never brought it up, but Snape owed him a life-debt, and damn it, snagging his girl was _not_ the way to repay it!

Potter scowled at the stretch of wall in front of him, then sighed and leaned against it, trying to calm his ragged breath. "Right then," he finally said. Padfoot had seen only what he feared in the library, but Prongs had the horrible truth in an old, abandoned classroom--and Snivellus would suffer for it.

James pushed away from the wall and walked determinedly up the last flight of stairs, through the portrait of the Fat Lady, and up into the fifth-year boy's dormitory where Sirius awaited him. He tugged the invisibility cloak off, hurled it in a corner, and shot a flinty smile at his roommate. Black responded with a similarly sinister expression. They had a humiliation to plan.

- - - RL - - -

Remus Lupin was having an exceptionally fine day.

He wasn't sure what exactly had prompted it after nearly six months of stubborn silence, but on the morning of June 25th, Sirius Black had finally apologized for inadvertently exposing Lupin's 'furry problem' and nearly ending him up on trial before the Wizengamut. Sirius hadn't, Remus noticed, apologized for nearly killing Severus Snape (who had kindly continued his tutoring and had, despite developing a marked distaste Lupin's close proximity, never mentioned nor maligned his condition). For now, though, Moony's pack-mate was back, and that was all he cared about.

Well, not _all_ he cared about. Today, the last of the all-important OWL exams were being conducted--another reason for Lupin's particularly good mood.

He had finished the Herbology, Charms, and History sections with no problems and expected either an E or an O in all of them. In Potions, thanks to Severus' year-long aid, he expected at least an A, when on his own, Remus knew it probably would have been a T. And the theory portion of Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning? Well, that was a smashing success! Really, _'give the five signs that identify the werewolf'?_ The Gryffindor wondered if Headmaster Dumbledore had any sway over which questions were administered which year; if so, Remus was sure that particular question added purely for him.

There was still the DADA practical and Astronomy to go, but he was fairly confident that those would be aced and _completely_ confident they would at least be passed. So, it was time for a little rest and relaxation (which meant some light studying) on the lawn with his friends before the afternoon exam.

He cracked open his astronomy text and let the long-missed sound of Sirius', James', and Peter's co-mingling voices sweep over him. He was halfway through the section on Canis Major when Sirius' unthoughtful "I'm bored--wish it was full moon" caught Remus' attention.

The lycanthrope shot his friend a sour look and said, "_You might_. We've still got Astronomy. If you're bored, you could test me. Here..."

Sirius waved off the proffered book. "I don't need to look at that rubbish. I know it all. Named for the dog star, you know."

"This'll liven you up, Padfoot," James said suddenly in a disturbingly soft tone of voice Remus had never heard before. "Look who it is..."

Sirius' grin was almost feral. "Excellent," he murmured just as softly.

No. Please no, Remus begged mentally. Please be anyone but--

"_Snivellus_."

Remus closed his eyes. There went his smooth-sailing day. His friends had just aimed the tiller toward rough moral seas. Why--_why?_--did they have to do this? It was only their first day back as an official group and they were already acting like the past year hadn't happened. Snape wasn't exactly Lupin's _friend_--he was more like a depressing but needed acquaintance--but he didn't want the other boy hurt. Couldn't the Marauders respect that _for once?_ Didn't they know how much pain they caused their friend every time they ignored his pacifistic wishes? And if not, was Remus willing to risk his friends--his _pack-mates_, the ones he had _just_ regained--to stand up for one unpleasant Slytherin?

As James called nastily "All right, Snivellus?" Remus knew that the answers to all three questions: no.

- - - SS - - -

Severus Snape was having a bad day. As part of a bad week. In a spectacularly bad year. His stomach knotted unpleasantly.

Today's woes had started just shy of 4 a.m., when the boy woke screaming bloody murder from a dream in technicolor and surround sound. The murder had been Lily Evans'. The culprit had been Lord Voldemort. And the death had merely been the beginning of the nightmare. The dream-Dark Lord had blown the magical discharge off his wand like a cowboy blowing smoke from his handgun and calmly demanded that Severus cut out Lily's reproductive organs for a particularly heinous draught. When dream-Severus refused, an unmasked Lucius Malfoy had broken ranks, genuflected, and asked, "Since Sev here's practically a mudblood himself, couldn't we just use his bits instead?"

"Of course," the Dark Lord nodded. "But they'll be more potent if they have a bit of the chit on them." The man had promptly cast an Imperious on the boy and forced him into coitus with Lily's lukewarm corpse while Malfoy took the distraught teen from behind.

Real-Severus spent the next quarter hour huddled, horrified, in an ice-cold shower. The fifteen minutes after that were spent scrubbing his skin raw under water as blisteringly hot as he could stand. The fifteen after that, he spent emptying the contents of his stomach into the nearest urinal. The last few minutes until 5 a.m. Snape spend wet and miserable on the bathroom floor working up the courage to open a vein with the straight razor he preferred for shaving.

Unfortunately--or furtunately, Severus wasn't quite sure which--Evan Rosier was an early riser and managed to get the blade away from him before he'd even broken the skin. The other teen wordlessly vanished the razor, cast a basic Hair Loss Charm along Severus' jawline, and led him up to breakfast, where thankfully, sausage was not yet being served.

After Snape managed to get down a slice of dry toast and half a glass of pumpkin juice, Rosier led his housemate back down to the dungeons and bed. As Severus' eyes were closing, he decided it was pretty damned ironic that the best Potions student in his entire year hadn't noticed his drink was spiked.

When he next awoke, this time closer to 7:30, Rosier quizzed Snape on the upcoming DADA OWL, Snape complemented Rosier on setting the dormitory passwords as study devices for the Astronomy OWL, and they both parried ideas on how best to get Wilkes up and out of bed. If and when Severus' savior chose to redeem his life-debt was not an immediate concern. Banshees and constellations and loudly snoring roommates were.

When the boys reentered the Great Hall for a meal with the rest of their housemates, Lily Evans flashed an encouraging smile to Snape. He avoided her eyes and tried not to vomit again. Sausage platters had now joined the toast racks. Severus tore a piece of white bread into crumbs.

The Defense OWL hardly merited Snape's usual test-day nausea, but the recollections it conjured made Snape want to bring back up his meager breakfast. _'Give the five signs that identify a werewolf'? _He wondered if a spiteful Dumbledick had bribed the administrators beforehand to include that question and tried to ignore the memory of the claws and the teeth and soulless eyes and howls and pain--_pain!_--in his side as the beast tore into him and Merlin--_Merlin!_--let it just have been the claws--let there have be no contamination from flying spittle as the beast lunged again--_this time to kill!_--and--

The examiner called time.

Severus forced his lungs to expand and contract and to only hunch his shoulders in on himself as he battled the black-clad sea of students at the exit, instead of curling into a fetal position in the middle of the flagstone floor.

Snape focused his mind on the outline he'd scribbled before writing the essay itself. Cross-referencing names and dates of known vampires helped ease the urge to give in to hysterics.

"C'mon, a bit of fresh air wouldn't go amiss," one girl was saying to her whey-faced companion, and Severus thought that might be good advice. He allowed his feet to lead him down the grassy slope of Hogwarts' lawn, all the while combing through his notes for misspelled names and inverted dates. He settled himself in a clump of bushes by the lake and waited out the nausea.

Finally feeling up to facing the practical exam in a hour's time, Severus shoved his paper into his satchel and set off across the green for the cool assurance of the old, stone castle.

Though he hadn't heard the name from James Potter's mouth since the full moon fiasco, the call of "All right, Snivellus?" instantly brought back years of training. Snape's book bag was instantly discarded. His wand--

"Expelliarmus!" James shouted, and with a sick feeling of déja vu, Severus watched thirteen and a half inches of ebony fly away from him.

"Impedimenta!" Sirius Black drawled, and Severus went crashing to the ground. Snape struggled to his knees but the curse weighed as heavily on his limbs as Lucius Malfoy had in December. Potter and Black were saying something. Someone was laughing shrilly.

"You--wait," Severus challenged, his voice sounding oddly muffled in his ears. It was just Potter and Black, he told himself. Just stupid schoolboys. "You--wait."

"Wait for what?" Sirius asked. "What're you going to _do_, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?"

Helplessness. Rage. Snape let fly a string of insults and curses, some of them illegal, but nothing happened. His wand lay unresponsive several meters away.

With all the cold fury of a mother with a particularly errant child, Potter ordered, "Wash out your mouth. Scourgify!"

"Leave him _alone_!" a new voice demanded.

Evans! Snape's heart soared and his stomach fell and he spared a brief, guilty glance at her lovely, livid face. If anyone could butt heads with James Potter and come out on top, it was Lily Evans. All eyes turned to the new altercation and Severus crept as quickly as he dared toward where his wand had landed. His hand closed on the handle--the rush of welcoming magic was almost enough to make the boy weep in relief--when Black suddenly spotted him.

"Oi!" the boy called out, but the flash of spell-light had already left Snape's wand.

James' face split neatly open, splashing his sun-tanned skin and his tailored robes with bright red blood. The Gryffindor spun around, snarling like his house's mascot, and Snape found himself dangling in the air as if held by some invisible giant. In seeming slow-motion, he felt gravity grab the edge of his second-hand robe with two vindictive hands and pull.

Merlin.

Revealed first were twig-thin ankles. Then knees. Thighs.

Oh Merlin.

After the near-suicidal fit following this morning's dream, Severus simply couldn't bare the thought of putting jeans on beneath his jumper. Of having to hear the zip of his fly and remember Malfoy pulling it down with a pale, manicured hand.

He was going to be ill.

Bystanders were laughing.

Lily--Oh, Lily, not you too--was trying to suppress a smile.

Severus was going to be very ill.

"Let him down," the girl demanded, her mouth still quirked at the corners.

"Certainly," Potter grinned, and dumped his hostage onto the ground. Snape was instantly on his feet, but Black's "Petrificus!" sent the boy face-first into the mud--

"Leave him _alone_!" someone shouted.

And blood--

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," someone replied.

And gravel--

"Take the curse off him, then!"

Something snapped in Severus' mind.

"There you go," Potter said, and Snape suddenly found himself able to move. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus--"

There was a red-headed muggle girl, chest split open in the classic Y-incision. There was an equally red-headed Lily, green spell-light reflecting off her horrified green eyes as the Dark Lord cackled. And there was mud and blood and gravel.

"I don't need help from filthy little mudbloods like her!" Severus found himself shouting.

The girl before him blinked. He wondered why she looked hurt. He was protecting her. Protecting her like he couldn't protect himself. Not with the skull-and-snake tattoo on his arm. It wouldn't wash off. He had tried.

"Fine," the fay creature said. "I won't bother in the future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, _Snivellus_."

"Apologize to Evans!" Potter screamed.

"I don't want _you_ to make him apologize. You're as bad as he is!"

"What? I'd _never_ call you a--you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can! I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me _sick_."

And then the girl was leaving, mary-janes crunching down the loose stone path that lead in the opposite direction.

"Evans! Hey, _Evans_!" James called.

But she didn't come back.

With a sudden burst of spell-light, Severus found himself once again dangling by his toes in midair, wand lying just out of reach in the grass. With the most vengeful tone Snape had ever heard, Potter called, "Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

Snape froze. No.

There was a smattering of applause but an equal number of shuffled feet and apprehensive grunts. Severus held his breath. Please, no.

Potter paused, indecisive, but then Black, the consummate showman, nudged his friend with an elbow. The two shared a look that turned Severus' blood to ice.

Oh no. Please, _please_ no.

"Well," Sirius asked the assembled students, grinning cajolingly at the girls and comradely at the boys, "who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

This time, there was a roar of approval.

Not that. Not here!

As Black made a show like a muggle magician--"Nothing behind my back, nothing up my sleeve"--Snape's black eyes desperately searched the crowd. Where was that fucking werewolf? He was a prefect, wasn't he? He couldn't let this happen!

"Nothing in my right hand, nothing in my left," Sirius declared.

Then pale, strong hands were at Severus' hips. A muttered "Diffindo" from Black. At the same moment, Potter shouted, "And voila!"

Graying boxer shorts were ripped away.

Severus was going to be sick.

They were _laughing_. From his vantage point upside-down, he could see the black-cloaked legs of the jeering spectators, robe hems shaking and swaying in spasms of laughter.

It was too familiar: the cat-calls, the hoots, the applause.

Humiliation. Anger. Impotence.

Severus' stomach turned inside-out.

Later, Snape couldn't be sure whether the shock of seeing him vomit caused Potter to end the spell holding him up or if someone else figured out the counter-curse. In any case, he fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. He came up from the tangle of his robes, choking on tears and bile.

A large hand took Severus' elbow in a surprisingly gentle grip, pressed a familiar, ebony wand into the boy's numb, shaking fingers, and led him away.

- - - LM - - -

Lucius Malfoy stared dully at the blank parchment before him, then up at the gilded clock on the mantle, and then back down to the empty parchment. Feeling like a recalcitrant schoolboy told to do lines, Lucius mentally willed the letter to write itself. Unfortunately, the paper remained infuriatingly free from the artfully convincing prose the young man needed sent off by evening owl post. This simply wouldn't do!

Malfoy stood up from his 16th century writing table, paced along the equally ancient Persian rug, sat back down at the desk, and glared at the offending parchment. No, this wouldn't do at all!

The young lord, who prided himself as an eloquent correspondent, could not think of a single word that would convince Severus Snape to attend the next Death Eater Revel. And if he couldn't do that, the Dark Lord was going to take it out of _his_ hide. And that _certainly_ wouldn't do!

Lucius banged his head against the top of the desk--a childish gesture, he knew, but damn it, it wasn't supposed to be like this! Lord Voldemort had, of course, let his youngest initiate skip out on the minor Spring Equinox Revel when Malfoy cited that, after five years of holidays spent at Hogwarts castle, a sudden rash of absences on Snape's part would look suspicious. When Lucius suggested the boy also be exempt from the Summer Solstice Revel, though--ostensibly to study for his OWLs--the Dark Lord had laughed and said, "What better time, then, for a little stress relief?" The laughter had stopped when Lucius dragged his feet; it was quickly replaced a hissed "Crucio." And then Avery--curse the man's softheartedness towards his son's friends--had stepped forward with the real reason for Malfoy's anxiety. There had been another round under the Cruciatus after _that_ revelation.

While rape was one of the many forms of torture condoned on muggles and mudbloods, it was apparently _not_ permissible within the Death Eater files, not even on half-bloods like Sev. Lucius hadn't understood his master's violent reaction to his justification--"The boy's practically a mudblood, my lord; his father was a filthy muggle!"--but after a third Cruciatus, he hadn't dared ask for clarification. This much was clear: Voldemort would _not_ accept the loss of his Potions prodigy. "You fucked it up," the older wizard spat venomously, "and you had damn well better fix it. I want the boy securely back in these ranks by the end of Hogwarts' term. And you'll be skipping the Solstice to do it."

Thus, the letter. Or lack thereof.

For days after receiving his newest assignment, Malfoy simply sat at this desk, staring at this very sheet of parchment, stumped by his first ever writing block.

The problem, Lucius decided, was that he had never apologized to _anyone_ before--he was the sole heir of the incontrovertibly correct House of Malfoy, after all--and he had_ certainly_ never apologized to anyone he had fucked without permission. Excepting Severus, they were all dead. And even if, in some alternate universe, those others had been set free instead of Avada Kedevra-ed and he was forced to write _them_ apologies, Lucius knew it would have been quite easy. When no one could see his expressions, he was a masterful liar.

But that was another part of the problem: this confession would only be _partially_ untrue. Oh, Malfoy didn't regret the act itself for a moment, so that part would be a lie. The boy's screams had been exquisite; his body, virgin-tight; the watching crowd, just the thing to push the experience over the top. No, he didn't regret taking Severus Snape--especially when in just one month, he would be saddled with the insufferable Narcissa Black--but he could have timed the thing better. He had brought Snape into the Death Eater fold, had swooped in like a bird of prey and snatched the scarred little creature from Dumbledore's hands in a moment of emotional vulnerability. And then, instead of using that state to attach the child to himself and his lord like a gosling to its mother, he had almost immediately broken that fragile trust. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

June 21st had come and passed, and still, Lucius had been unable to put pen to paper. Now, with only five more days until the Hogwarts Express inextricably removed Snape from Malfoy's grasp, there was no more time for hesitation. Banging his head against the writing table a few more times for inspiration, Lucius grudgingly picked up his self-inking, peacock feather quill and started writing.

- - - SS - - -

When an all too familiar eagle owl landed in Severus Snape's tomato bisque the night of June 25th, the boy had to battle the urge to regurgitate what little he'd eaten. This was just what he needed, he thought bitterly, recognizing both the carrier and the coat of arms adorning its cargo. The perfect ending to the perfect day. Ha.

The bird cawed imperiously, and, willing his suddenly trembling hands to steady, Severus plucked up Lucius Malfoy's letter. He would not break down, he told himself. He would _not_ be seen as weak, and he would _not_ break down again. Not after that _fiasco_ this morning. Steeling himself further, Snape broke the wax seal and opened the envelope.

It was an invitation, masterfully worded in zoological allusions and artistically penned on thick, cream parchment. Anyone else would have been delighted to receive a private audience with the man who held nearly one-tenth of wizarding Britain's liquid assets. Severus, however, had to marshall every hate-filled fiber in his being to combat the debilitating fear that such a summons provoked in him. He _would not_ break down, he told himself again. He was a Slytherin, damn it, not some overwrought Hufflepuff, and he _would_ _not_ break down again!

But what to do? He couldn't--couldn't _possibly_--answer the summons. He would rather _die_ than ever have to look at Lucius' pale, perfect, _loathsome_ face again. But--

But what if he _would_ die? Snape was all too aware that Lord Voldemort hadn't once called him through the Dark Mark hidden under his sleeve or even through more conspicuous owl post. Yet here was Malfoy, writing in the same clever, convivial tone as their first correspondences. What if-- Severus clamped down on the bout of nausea that rose with the very thought: What if the dream earlier had some truth to it? What if the rape hadn't been a spontaneous indulgence but some sort of ordered initiation test? Had he failed, only to be ignored by his new master and harrassed by Malfoy forever? Or was the Dark Lord being merciful and putting him on probation? But then why leave Lucius as his liaison? Unless-- Unless the dark wizard was watching, waiting to see whether he buckled or stayed true to the cause? And if he stayed, would he-- Merlin, would he be _tested_ again?

Because he wouldn't-- He _couldn't_ stand for it! But what could he do? Much as Snape tried to tell himself he didn't need to be saved like some weak-willed damsel, Lucius Malfoy was a powerful man, backed by an even more powerful master, and Severus was just-- was just--

"Snape? You alright?" came the hushed voice of Marius Avery, and Severus latched onto the sound like a child to a lullaby after a scare.

"I--" He tried, but he felt nauseous and dizzy. He was choking on terror and--

"Breathe," Avery coached. "Just breathe."

And now, Severus' other roommates were watching, though circumspectly enough not to draw the attention of any other tables. Their expressions turned tense and sympathetic as their eyes flicked from the letter clutched in two normally sure hands to a face uncharacteristically lined with emotion.

"I--ca--an't--"

"Yes, you can. Just breathe. In and out. That's it," Avery said.

And that _was_ it. It was too much kindness, too much care. To Snape's utter mortification, his vision blurred with tears--the third time that day--and before he could make an even greater fool of himself in front of the whole Great Hall, he bolted. Out the side door the teachers favored and into the armor-lined hallway, he ran. He turned a hard left, trainers squeaking against the freshly polished flagstones, and collapsed into a unfilled niche. He drew his knees against his chest, tucked his reedy frame into the shallow recess, and wrapped his arms around his chest to still his gasping sobs. Severus wondered when he had become such a child.

He wanted nothing more than for his friends to come find him, to make it all better, and to tell him he was safe, like his mother used to do when he would hide himself in some dark corner away from his father. He wanted them to soothe him and protect him, indirectly and silently as they'd been doing all year, but he also wanted them to... to not be _them_, to be instead the kind of people who would unguardedly stand up for him. The kind of people who were strong and quick-qitted and bold. The kind of people like... The kind of people like Lily Evans.

Suddenly, the last of the OWLs couldn't come fast enough.

Cassiopeia. Cetus. Perseus.

Up stairs. Down stairs. Staring at the sliver of face behind the half-open door to the Gryffindor dorms, and hoping it would deliver his message.

Watching.

Waiting.

For Lily.

"I'm sorry," Snape said, as soon as the portrait door opened again.

"I'm not interested." The temperature in the hallway plummeted with Evan's tone. Severus drew his school robe about him like a blanket and stared at Lily, somehow comfortable and commanding in her flimsy dressing gown.

"I'm _sorry_," he repeated, hunching further into his clothing.

"Save your breath. I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here." Evans crossed her arms and leaned against Fat Lady's thick, wooden frame, muffling the portrait's complaints about lovers' spats and late hours. The boy scoffed internally, wishing his botched relationship with Lily was he only thing he had to lose if his pleas tonight continued to go unheeded.

"I was. I would have done. I never _meant_ to call you 'mudblood.' It just... slipped out."

"It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your _precious_ little Death Eater friends."

Snape blanched. How could she-- No, she couldn't know! She _couldn't_ know! She just meant Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Wilkes--the other boys in his house. No matter how Potter and Black found out the details of his December initiation--all the boys in the dorm swore they hadn't told--or if their words were really mere coincidence, Evans was truly ignorant. The stubborn jut of her jaw and the steely flash of those sometimes soft green eyes told him her anger was unmarred by pity. She didn't know that he was soiled, dirtied in a way that even the foulest of insults--'mudblood'--couldn't possibly approach. Severus wasn't sure whether he was happy or upset about this--if Lily _was_ in the know, she would surely help him; her Gryffindor sense of charity would demand it.

"You see!" Evans snapped. "You don't even deny it! You _don't_ even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?"

Snape opened his mouth, then closed it. What could he say to that?

"I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way. I've chosen mine."

"No, listen, I didn't mean--"

"--to call me 'mudblood'?"

'To alienate you this much. To make you _hate_ me. I just wanted you safe,' Severus wanted to say. But the words refused to move from his brain to his mouth.

"But you call everyone of my birth 'mudblood.' Why should I be any different?"

'Because I love you.'

Lily shot the boy a contemptuous look, flung the portrait door open, and walked away.

It was a long moment before Snape could breathe again.

When he could, he tottered unsteadily down the stairs to the dungeons. He thought briefly of the Slytherin dorms and the raucous party celebrating the end of exams with loud music and firewhisky--the house's yearly concession to normal, teenaged impropriety--and turned toward the Potions lab instead.

The door to Dungeon 5 swung open on well-oiled hinges, and Severus stepped through quietly. The cabinet in the back of the room held row after row of stoppered poisons and incendiaries. It opened without even an Alohomora. Severus ran his fingers along the glass vials, oddly soothed by the rhythmic tink, tink of volatile ingredients wobbling dangerously in their settings. Aconite. Acromantula venom. Erumpent horn shavings. With a single mouthful, he could be quit of it all forever. No more mudbloods. No more pure-bloods. No more blood on his hands or down his thighs. Just... no more.

Snape fingered the skull and crossbones etched on an ampoule of liquified hellebore roots and plucked it from its place. He uncorked the bottle and gagged on the scent. He closed his eyes, as if that would help. Just one mouthful...

Just one mouthful, and he would prove to Sirius Black and James Potter that he was the snivelling coward they always said he was. Prove to Remus Lupin that the werewolf would have done just as well to devour him. Prove to Lily Evans he was as lost to the Dark as she thought. Prove to Lucius Malfoy he was that disgustingly weak.

No. Severus set his jaw and deftly relieved the store cupboard of three small moonstones, six drams of cypress bark and asafoetida resin, and nine drachms crocodile tears. "Illegitimi non carborundum," he declared, as he poured the hellebore into a caldron and set on the moonstones with a heavy pestle. The rest of the ingredients followed in short order. Half an hour of later, he decanted his Draught of Peace and downed half of it.

The near-panic he had been battling all day drained out of his system like water from a bathtub. Snape gasped at the loss. Was this, he wondered dazedly, what it felt like to be a Gryffindor? This complete lack of nerves? This glorious intrepidity? He cleaned up his workspace, tucked the remaining Draught in his pocket, and set off for the owlery before the feeling could leave.

The letter sketched out there was perfectly mundane, and Severus grinned at the gall of it. There was no proper salutation. No fancy words or oblique turns of phrase. It wasn't even written on a proper piece of parchment. Instead, Snape's spiky script meandered through ink-spots on a scrap of paper he'd used to blot his Astronomy OWL.

_'Narcissa Black_,' it read,'_would absolutely love for her fiancé to attend her graduation ceremony. As this is something of a milestone for her and she does seem rather high-maintenance, I doubt you will have much time to loiter about Hogsmeade while I make my end-of-the-year purchases tomorrow. Should you find a few minutes, however, I will suffer your presence for a while.'_

Severus folded the note in half, jotted his last name in the upper right-hand corner, Lucius' first in the center, and cast his eyes up to the selection of school owls available for all hours post. Purposefully picking out the most dilapidated one of the bunch, he tied off his letter and sent the old bird on its way to Malfoy Manor. Satisfied, the boy turned and headed back down to the dungeons and the end-of-term party.

- - -

The last Saturday of June dawned cloudless and hot, much to the displeasure of those Slytherins sober enough to roll out of bed and face the day. Severus Snape was one such student. Knowing the disastrous effects of mixing alcohol with even the least potent anxiolytic, he hadn't touched the drink a thoroughly sloshed Mulciber had pressed into his hand the night before. Thus, the only thing bothering Severus this morning was a well of apprehension over the letter he'd sent. That was quickly nullified by his second dose of Draught of Peace.

Buoyed by a courage as absolute as it was Dutch, Snape climbed the stairs to the Great Hall and took a place at the breakfast table. Rosier was already seated and nursing a cup of black coffee, and soon enough, the rest of his year mates stumbled in, looking more sleepy than hungover. It only took a minute to notice the surreptitious spiking of pumpkin juice. Apparently, he was not the only one depending on potions to get through today. Further comforted by this realization, he set about inviting himself down to Hogsmeade for the first time in over five months.

To say Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, and Wilkes were surprised by Snape's sudden enthusiasm for the little village would have been an understatement. After the holidays, Severus' general dislike of people and the outdoors had morphed into acute agoraphobia. He had withdrawn further and further into himself, and his housemates certainly hadn't expected the debacle with the Gryffindors yesterday--or Malfoy's letter, on top of that--to help. Yet there Snape was, behaving more like his old indomitable self than he had all year. Being Slytherins, though, they quickly hid their incredulous joy.

When the four boys saw Lucius Malfoy waiting for their recently restored confederate on High Street, they grudgingly kept their enraged dismay just as hidden.

With a sigh that revealed he'd been half-expecting the man, Severus told his friends he would see them later and turned to meet the creature he feared more than the Dark Lord himself. Over Snape's shoulder, Avery shot Malfoy a look of pure loathing, informed his friend that they would come looking for him if he wasn't back in half an hour, and then set off with the others toward the sweet shop.

For a long moment, Severus and Lucius merely stared at each other.

"Malfoy," Severus finally intoned.

The blond's face twitched at the dismissal of his title and responded bitterly, "Mr. Snape."

"We're wasting time," the boy said and began walking--not running--in the other direction. "Would you care for drink?"

"My tab or yours?" Lucius couldn't help but bait.

"I was thinking we'd split the bill. As I recall, your tastes have cost me rather dearly in the past."

Malfoy swallowed hard. Rather more subdued, he said, "The Hog's Head's the other way."

"I _have_ been to Hogsmeade before," Snape assured, neither turning nor slowing his pace.

"Then where are you going?"

"Three Broomsticks, of course. Unless you know _another_ pub in this little town?"

"The Three Broomsticks is a _public_ place," the man hissed urgently.

"Yes, the Three Broomsticks _is_ a public place," Snape replied.

After a moment's hesitation, Severus heard Lucius' footsteps following his, and marked a point for himself on his mental score card. The next while would be torture beyond compare for Snape, and there was _no way_ he would make this easier for Malfoy by allowing himself to be plied with high-priced alcohol in an establishment known for 'looking the other way.'

The Three Broomsticks was even more crowed than usual. With Hogwarts' examinations over, there was very little for even the most studious of scholars to do but gad about Hogsmeade until the train came to take them home. Malfoy and Snape made their way through clumps of students and businessmen and early drunks to procure a table in the back, which was about as private as the table closest to the entrance at the Hog's Head.

A curvy young barmaid who enthusiastically introduced herself as Rosmerta flounced up to take their orders. Lucius smiled lasciviously at her--Snape fought the urge to vomit--until he discovered they didn't sell his preferred brand of cognac. The patrician cooly told the girl he'd be leaving no tip, and her flounce was considerably less bouncy as she delivered a bottle of butterbeer along with a dramatically more economic brandy than Malfoy was used to. Severus sneered at her retreating back while Lucius peered critically at his drink, mumbling about the restaurant's "cheap, plebeian stock." The man dared a sip, cringed at the taste, and pushed his glass away.

Attempting a friendly smile, he turned toward his dark-haired companion. "So, Sev--"

"You know, Lucius," Snape interrupted calmly, "I feel I've _earned_ the right to use your given name. But never once in the years we've known each other have I given _you_ permission to address me so informally."

"Sev-- Snape," Malfoy conceded, face twisting with what, on a normal human, might have been dismay and regret but was more likely just the shock of being one-upped by a commoner in casual conversation. Just six sentences, and the night was already falling apart. "It's just-- I didn't--" he stammered, then reached for the previously discarded alcohol. "I was... intoxicated that night. Too much, ah, dubious magic, perhaps. I don't know. But I wasn't myself, Se-- Snape. You have to believe me. It won't happen again."

Severus stared cooly at the older man, dark eyes boring mercilessly into his companion's pale ones. Tsk, tsk, Lucius, he thought savagely, this isn't an ill that can be charmed away by _that_ poor excuse for an apology.

Lucius grimaced. Offer made. Offer rejected. He took a calming breath. "I'm... in contact with a Damocles Belby. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

Of course, Severus had heard of him. Belby and his team were the talk of all the Potions journals. They were proposing a viable solution to lycanthropy: not one of the flashy _cures_ that invariably failed but a potion that would instead work as a sort of tranquilizer once the creatures had transformed. Severus remained obstinately silent.

"Well, he's making a sort of... Calming Draught for werewolves, I suppose. Dulls their instincts, allows them to be a bit more like an animagus than a slobbering beast. I-- that is, the _House of Malfoy_ is one of the sponsors. Noblesse obligé, and all that," he grinned winningly.

He got no response.

"Sev--" The blond winced. "Snape. Look, if you'll have it, Belby's agreed to take you on an intern this summer and next, and as a full apprentice once you graduate if he thinks your work's solid. And as for your hint-dropping: there's a werewolf at Hogwarts, I got that. Whoever it is-- Well, they all look the same come full moon, and the packs our lord's courting-- Let's just say no one would raise a fuss if a test subject or two didn't make it through the initial test phase." Offer made.

"...I accept."

Instantly, Lucius transformed from a contrite schoolboy back into a conceited sybarite. With a grin that was not quite neutral enough to conceal his relief, he raised his glass in salute. "To the future, then."

Severus tamped down his panic at the familiar cheer and inclined his bottle of butterbeer.

They drank, then rose. The fairer of the pair pulled on a light summer cloak; the darker, his all-weather Hogwarts robe. After throwing the requisite number of sickles on the table, the two exited the Three Broomsticks. Out in the humid, June air, the duo faced off again.

"Snape, a pleasure." Malfoy set a conciliatory hand on the younger man's shoulder. Severus flinched back violently.

After a few shaky breaths, shuttered black eyes rose to mercurial grey ones. "We're Slytherins, Lucius, not Hufflepuffs. I'll abide your presence, but you have to _earn_ my forgiveness."

"I will."

Severus couldn't help but be nervous at the absolute conviction in Lucius' voice. When a Malfoy decided something, nothing stood against him.

With considerate slowness, Lucius Malfoy extended one pale, fine-boned hand, and with no small bit of apprehension, Severus Snape forced himself to take it.


End file.
